A/N: Hi, y'all. Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favorites. This fic will go on in a different way than usual, but we will have flashbacks at some point. Hope you enjoy this one!

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of this characters. Just having a bit fun.

3 weeks later.

February, 2013

"How is Lima? How is everybody? I imagine you right now at Breadstix, drinking one of those fancy cappuccinos, and smiling at the awful taste. You're probably wearing sunglasses to read this. Well take them off, you look ridiculous. Did you get the books I sent you? There are very good stuff in them. I hope you read them! How is Puck? Please, promise me you're not sleeping with one of your ex-boyfriends. That would just be so disappointing.

Must go now. Bottom of page looms, and in the other room I can hear the thrilling murmur of our audience as they throw chairs at each other. I finish this job in two weeks, THANK GOD, then Brody, also happens to be our director, wants me to devise a show for old Broadway.

In the meantime, I'd explained to Brittany who Virginia Woolf was, she said that she really, really wanted to play her, but only if she can take her top off, so that's the casting sorted. I'll be Emily Dickinson, and keep my top on. I'll reserve you tickets.

Are you coming back to New York soon? Maybe we could spend some time just two of us?"

"Just two of us?" Rachel hesitated, shook her head and groaned, then wrote "Just kidding!" She groaned again. 'Just kidding' was exactly what people wrote when they meant every word. Too late to scribble it out now, but how to sign off? 'All the best' was too formal, 'all my love' too corny, and now Brody was in the doorway once again.

"Okay, places everyone!" Sorrowfully he held the door open as if leading them to the firing squad, and quickly, before she could change her mind, she wrote—

'God I miss you, Quinn.'

—then her signature and a single kiss scratched deep into the pale blue air-mail paper.

Shrewd green eyes in a heart-shaped face under a mess of expensively dishevelled blonde hair, her dress undone one button too far, an immaculate mess. She saw her approach and her face cracked with a wide smile.

"Forty-five minutes late, Q. Where have you been?"

"Over there watching you chat up the waiters."

"Don't tell Jack." She knocked the table with her hip as she stood and hugged Quinn. "Where have you been though?"

"Just preparing things for the wedding." Her hair was wet from the shower, as she brushed it from her forehead, her hand cupping the side of Quinn's face fondly, Quinn realised that her sister was already a little drunk.

She pouted sceptically. "And where did you get to last night? We waited all night."

"I was at Puck's."

"Ex, huh? They are always gold, aren't they?" She placed a cigarette between her lips and Quinn lit it with her match. "Now quickly, tell me about your love-life."

"No!"

"Come on, Quinnie! You know I'm forced to live vicariously through my little sister."

"Are you drunk?"

"I must be the perfect girl of our family, remember?"

"You are drunk."

"I don't drink, remember?" When Quinn was twelve she had solemnly taken her into the kitchen one night and in a low voice instructed her how to make a dry Martini, like their parents. "Come on then. Spill the beans, all the juicy details."

"I have nothing to say."

"No one at Yale? No nice handsome gentlemen?"

"Nope."

"Not a professor, I hope."

"Of course not."

"What about back home? Who's been writing you those long tear-stained letters we keep forwarding?"

"None of your business."

"Don't make me steam them open again, just tell me!"

"There's nothing to tell."

Frannie sat back in her chair. "Well, I'm disappointed in you. What about that nice girl who came to stay that time?"

"What girl?"

"Pretty brunette. Got drunk and shouted at you."

"That was Rachel Berry."

"Rachel Berry. I liked her. Mom liked her too, even if she called her nympho." Quinn winced at the memory. "I don't mind, at least she had a bit of fire, a bit of passion. Not like Puckerman. That guy thinks with his dick"

"You really are drunk, aren't you?"

"So what about this Rachel?"

"Rachel is just a friend."

"Is she now? Well I'm not so sure. In fact I think she likes you."

"Everyone likes me. It's my curse."

In her head it had sounded fine: raffish and self-mocking, but now they sat in silence and she felt foolish once again, like at those parties where her mother would allow her to sit with the grown-ups and she would show-off and let her mother down.

She smiled at Quinn indulgently, and squeezed her hand as it rested on the table. "Be nice, won't you?"

"I am nice, I'm always nice."

"But not too nice. I mean don't make a religion out of it, niceness."

"I won't." Uncomfortable now, she began to glance around Breadstix.

Frannie nudged her arm. "So do you want another bottle of wine, or shall we go back to home?"

They began to walk north through the back streets, Quinn began to feel better, enjoying the satisfaction of knowing a city well. She hung woozily on her arm.

"So how long are you planning to stay here then?"

"I don't know. A few weeks maybe."

"But then you will go back to New Haven, won't you?"

"Of course."

"I don't mean like—"

"There isn't any rush, is there?"

"Well it's been two weeks, Quinn. How much holiday do you need?"

"I'm not on holiday, I'm here for the wedding."

"Anyway. So what about drama classes? How are they going? We all will be so proud of our pretty actress."

What she really wanted was to be a photographer. At sixteen she had completed a photo-project called 'Texture', full of black and white close-ups of tree bark and sea-shells which had apparently 'blown' her art teacher's mind. Nothing that she had done since had given her as much satisfaction as 'Texture' and those high-contrast prints of frost on windows and the gravel in the driveway.

"Being an actress is a possibility."

No, professional photography was her best bet. She decided to try saying it out loud.

"Actually, I'm thinking about photography."

"Photography?" Frannie gave a maddening laugh.

"Hey, I'm a good photographer!"

"—when you remember to take your thumb off the lens."

"Aren't you meant to be encouraging me?"

"What kind of photographer? Glamour?" She gave a throaty laugh. "Or are you going to continue your work on Texture!" and they had to stop while she stood in the street laughing for some time, doubled over, holding onto Quinn's arm for support and she stood and straightened her face. "Quinn, I am so, so sorry."

"I'm actually much better now."

"I know you are, I'm sorry. I apologise." They began to walk again. "You must do it, Quinn, if that's what you want."

Frannie squeezed her arm with her elbow, but Quinn felt sulky.

"We've always told you that you can be anything you want to be, if you work hard enough."

"It was just a thought,' she said, petulantly. "That's all."

Frannie took hold of her arm and they began walking slowly again. "I just want you to make mom proud, that's all. I mean I'm already proud of you, and mom as well, but, well, you know what I mean. I'm a little drunk. Let's change the subject."

"Oh – too late." They were in sight of the house now. "Let's talk tomorrow."

"Okay," she said, sulkily. Frannie was smiling but frowning too, squeezing her hand a little too hard, and she felt a sudden pang of anxiety. "Why?"

"Because I want to talk to you about something, but I'm a little too drunk right now, I think."

"What is it? Tell me now!"

"It's nothing, nothing."

"You told my mom about my sexuality, didn't you?"

She gave a low laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, of course not."

"So tell me, what is it?"

"I'm in love with my roommate." Standing on the street she gave her a bitter smile.

"Are you breaking up with Jack?"

"Of course not."

"Wait a minute—" Quinn widened her eyes as she brushed her fingertips against her lips. "Your roommate is Jessica, I mean, she is—"

"Yeah, she—"

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

Quinn pulled Frannie into a hug, wrapping her arms around her sister tight, showing the love they had never been able to show each other for all those years. They both started crying quietly until Frannie broke the silence. "Call Rachel."

"I will."

"Hello."

She felt like her heart breaking into little pieces when she heard the soft sleepy voice. She took her bottom lip between her teeth, "Hey, Rach."

"Oh my God! Quinn! Is that really you?"

Quinn smiled bitterly, it was very late. "Well, I believe so, yes."

"God, tell me everything. You have no idea how much I missed your voice, and please tell me about the wedding. How did everything go? Santana called me earlier, said you looked like a princess in that dress. I wish I could see it, but I can see the pictures later on Facebook, right?"

She couldn't take it anymore.

"Rach—"

"Are you crying?"

She was. For 3 hours.

"Maybe."

"Why are you crying?"

I love you.

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

She couldn't help but wonder if she told exactly what she was thinking, would the answer still be the same.

"I'm so sorry, Rach. I was being an asshole. I shouldn't have sneaked away in the morning, and I promised you, we would do something that day."

"It's okay. I'm not mad, I knew you would freak out."

She did. Really did.

"I did."

"Please come back to me."

I'm always right next to you.

"I will."

"Promise me, Quinn, but keep your promise this time. I need you."

I need you more than ever.

"I promise, Rach."

...